


Bora Bora

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [105]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: 38 lifetimes, 38 lifetimes fic, AU, Based on a True Story, Bora Bora, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 21:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: This particular AU is set in 2014, right around the time that Tom (allegedly) went to the South Pacific.





	1. Chapter 1

The rose petals had to go.

After Carmen let herself into the bungalow, she set aside her suitcase to shuffle along the petal path that greeted her at the front door. It wound through a small living room to the bedroom. There on the king size bed were more of the same petals, this time arranged in an outline of a heart enclosing “C + K”.

She gathered up the ones that made up “+ K” and crumpled them up in her hands. The fragrance was sweet, too sweet to waste. So instead of unceremoniously flushing them down the toilet, she let herself out onto the deck and flung them out into the crystal blue waters of the pristine sea.

Before Carmen went back inside to draw a bath and begin what was meant to be her honeymoon but was now her “so my fiance ran off with his elementary school piano teacher the week before our wedding” trip, she caught sight of the neighboring bungalow. Specifically, the goddamn gorgeous couple lounging on side by side deckchairs.

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and they looked miserable. Carmen was out there long enough for the man to look up, long enough to recognize him, and freeze. Whilst frozen, he offered her a tentative smile. This seemed to break the spell, and so she escaped to the solitude of her bedroom. She sat at the foot of her bed, pondered the remaining rose petals and, instead of mourning the loss of a husband, wondered how in the hell did Tom Hiddleston end up at the same remote South Pacific resort that she had.

* * *

Everything was still being billed to her ex, so Carmen sat down for dinner at the resort’s most expensive restaurant on that first night. She felt conspicuous, surrounded by glamorous couples who ordered in French and sported deep tans, but that didn’t stop her from ordering a comically large lobster tail and enough Champagne to drown whatever sorrows didn’t already get washed away in her early evening shower.

Tom and the gorgeous woman from his bungalow appeared in the dining room at 9:00pm. They looked beautiful, if a touch bored. They were with each other, but they didn’t look like they were together.

(Or maybe she wasn’t seeing them right. She was, after all, pretty fucking drunk.)

At least, that’s what Carmen thought at first. But then she had to give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they weren’t the type for being lovey-dovey in public. But then if you couldn’t be lovey-dovey in a posh resort which bore a complicated Tahitian name that she was pretty sure translated to “This Will Be The Most Expensive Vacation Sex You Have Ever Had”, then where could you?

The woman wore a white dress with a plunging neckline that revealed considerable cleavage. She tossed her shiny hair and flapped her glossy lips while Tom merely nodded and studied the menu. Carmen, sitting two tables away, watched them over the top of the book she was pretending to read. A passing diner dropped her phone and when Tom bent over to retrieve it. His gaze met Carmen’s as he sat back up. She flinched, and he smiled. His companion didn’t notice a thing.

Carmen didn’t prolong her meal to ogle, and actually hoped Tom and his friend were leaving soon. She didn’t want to compound the sadness of her single holiday by longing for her longtime celebrity crush and bemoaning the fact that he was mere yards away, just out of her grubby reach with a single, buxom woman.

It wasn’t late when she left but where were only a few diners around, not too many people to witness the spectacle of Tom and his date accommodating a request for a group photograph with the chef, the sommelier and the waiters. She lingered by the door, and when she did she could have sworn that Tom sought her gaze from where he stood. When she got back to her bungalow, and saw how flushed and shiny her complexion was, Carmen knew she imagined it. How could he have noticed her in her sweaty, drunk, chubby, glory? She passed out in a heap of petals, and dreamt of roses floating in open water.

* * *

Carmen must have drunk-dialed a breakfast order overnight, for there was a cart with food waiting just outside her bungalow door. There had been a gentle knock, then another, and finally the soft chime of the doorbell that got her upright, and out of bed just after 8:00 am.

She was quick about it, retrieving the food while still wearing her dress from the night before. But it was enough time outside to hear something from just across the water. The familiar rumble of a wheeled suitcase being pulled along a dock. The flap of designer flip-flops as the owner of the suitcase, Tom’s female companion, stomped in the direction of waiting golf cart. Tom was nowhere to be seen. Carmen figured he must be just closing up. Rather than witness of love of her fantasy life walking slowly away, she rolled her breakfast inside.

At which point she discovered it was not her breakfast. At least, nothing that she would imagine herself ordering. Granola and oat milk, black coffee and tropical fruit. Carmen was a bacon and egg and cheese on a hot buttered roll with a huge glass of regular Coke kind of girl. Unless drunk Carmen was secretly a health nut? She doubted it.

Her hungover reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Erm, hi.” Tom stood there, next to a cart of his own, wearing an apologetic smile.

Carmen was startled. “What are you doing here?” She sputtered. When Tom began to frown, she sputtered again. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” She sort of flapped her hand behind him. “The boob… ugh, I mean, your girlfriend?”

Tom laughed. “My friend had to return to England.”

“You’re not going with her?”

“I decided to extend my trip.” Tom shook his head. “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Carmen didn’t know what to say. “Sorry.”

“No need.” Tom tapped the domed cover of the largest dish that sat atop his cart. “I think I have your breakfast here.”

Carmen remembered her own cart, and turned to look at it. “So you’re saying I didn’t order myself granola and oat milk?”

“That would be me,” Tom replied. “And I don’t think it was me who ordered the spinach and goat cheese omelette with a side of bacon.”

“Oh my god that sounds perfect,” moaned Carmen, playfully shoving Tom out of the way. “Give it to me!”

They ate on the deck, moving the patio table out of the way so they could balance their plates on their bellies and consider the view of the ocean and the bungalows and the mountains just behind. Tom’s hair was greasy, but his pajamas (a threadbare blue t-shirt that was scandalously sheer and striped cotton trousers) were clean. Carmen changed into a sundress but her hair was still unruly and frizzy in the salt air. Without saying anything, she heaved a good portion of her omelette onto Tom’s plate. He hummed his thanks.

“So where’s your fella?” Tom asked.

“No fella.” Carmen shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“What happened to him?” When Carmen didn’t immediately reply, Tom looked stricken. “I’m sorry, is he alright?”

“It’s okay, and I think so.” Carmen grinned. “We broke up a few days ago.”

Tom’s eyebrows leapt up. “Wow.”

“We were supposed to get married two days ago,” confided Carmen. “Instead, he’s somewhere in Wisconsin with his middle school piano teacher, who he left me for…”

Tom coughed his surprise, settling when Carmen offered him a glass of water. “Oh my god.”

“So I’m here, escaping from our friends and family and their questions about what happens to their presents and who’s getting the condo and am I sure I don’t want to give him another chance.”

“A good idea,” Tom said. “You sound like you’re in decent shape, considering.”

Carmen nodded. “I’m relieved.”

“Didn’t you love him?”

“I did,” Carmen admitted. “But I was thinking about it on the plane. And last night at dinner when I was getting drunk on Champagne. I think I felt safe. Not because he loved me but because I was going to be settled down and with somebody. I haven’t been on my own in…” Carmen wrinkled her nose as she thought. “Eight years?”

Tom whistled. “That’s a long time.”

“It was like a prison sentence,” Carmen said. “Minimum security, of course. With time off for good behavior.”

“And now that you’re free?” Tom looked at her, studying her face.

“Now?” Carmen looked back at him, then out at the water. “Now I want to swim.”

“We just had breakfast, though,” Tom pointed out. “Shower?”

“That’s what the swim was for,” retorted Carmen.

Tom got up, stretched, and peered over the edge of the deck. “I have an idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Carmen take to the south pacific seas in a pair of inner tubes.

They floated.

Tucked into inner tubes that remained tethered to the dock below Carmen’s bungalow. They stared at the sun and made lazy conversation.

Tom liked watching Carmen talk, the way her small, plump lips moved as she pouted occasionally, scowled as she went into further detail about the demise of her relationship. And when she calmed down a little, there was the gentle rise and fall of her soft belly (partially exposed thanks to a rather adorable retro two-piece bathing suit). She didn’t shy away from his glances, and only cursed him out cheerfully when he teased her.

She was quiet, thoughtful as Tom talked about Coriolanus. The brief, intense, thrilling run working with a brilliant crew helmed by a genius director. The first real theater he’d been able to do since becoming known the world over as Loki. The first time he was the headliner. The first time he’d had to hire a driver to take him home evenings because sometimes theatergoers couldn’t resist following him when he took the tube.

Carmen didn’t feel bad for him. Not only because he reminded her that she should not. But because he was matter-of-fact about it. It was part of the job, he said.

“But what about when you’re not working? Like now?” She bit her lip. “You can feel free to tell me to fuck off, you know.”

“No!” Tom smiled. “I refuse to let you fuck off. You’re far too kind, listening to me prattle on.” 

“A minor flaw,” Carmen tutted. “We’ll chalk it up to your profession.”

Tom snorted.

“So what about your friend?”

“What about her?”

“Doesn’t she mind the intrusions?” Carmen’s eyes flashed at him. “Would she be mad if she knew you were out here tubing with a stranger?”

“Like I said, she’s a friend.” Tom shrugged. “And to be honest, it was something of a work thing. While she was here.”

“How do you mean? That girl?” Carmen frowned. “Is this all some… I mean, I wouldn’t say anything. What happens in Bora Bora…”

“The resort invited me out here. No promo, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the picture we took last night with the staff got leaked ‘accidentally.’” Tom chuckled.

“Will your friend be okay if it does?” Carmen asked, genuinely concerned.

Tom nodded. “We’ve been photographed out before. She’s a friend. She knows the deal.”

“And I guess it helps that she went back early, right?” Carmen guessed. “No pictures of the two of you at the airport, pretending that you’re not together.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re stuck out here with some rando fando…” Carmen sang. “Instead of that luscious lady with her perfect teeth and bouncy boobs.”

Tom stuck his lip out at her. “As you can see, I’m utterly bereft.”

“Still don’t feel sorry for you,” Carmen sang.

“But didn’t you just hear my sad story?” Tom whined playfully. “It’s lonely at the top.”

“I did, and did you forget you’re here with a jilted bride?” Carmen kicked some water at him. “A jilted bride in her thirties who’s stuck listening to her celebrity crush moan about his sad, fabulous life? Oh woe is me!”

Tom bit his bottom lip. “Her celebrity crush, did you say?”

“What crush? Who said anything about a crush?”

“Erm, I believe you did, madam.”

Carmen snorted. “Sorry, that must have been the wind that made you hear that.”

“It was not!” Tom flopped out of his tube, swimming over to tug at her arm.

Carmen fell into the water, clinging to Tom’s arm. She popped right up, laughing, and spat water at him.

He paid her back by grabbing her around the waist and heaving her to and fro. He was still muscular and built from the physical demands of the play, so he moved gracefully and quickly in the water. Carmen found it easy, maybe too easy, to gird him at the waist with her legs. Tug at his hair when she wasn’t trying to splash him. Tickle him under his square jaw, and delight in the feel of his stubble.

Then Carmen twisted one way, his face went another, and somehow he’d grabbed the string of her bathing suit top in his teeth. It was a flimsy thing, as she wasn’t especially buxom, and yet she was still surprised when it pulled off her body. So now she was topless, rivulets of clear water trailing between her breasts. Or along their slopes to trickle in minute streams off her taut nipples. Tom should have looked away but he didn’t. The color of her skin made his seem creamy in comparison. He became aware that he was starting to get hard. When she settled, slipping down his body so her legs wrapped around him at the waist, Tom didn’t move when his stiffness brushed against the swell of her ass.

Instead of moving away, she tightened the grasp of her arms around his neck and hugged him. Tom reveled in the feeling of her soft, damp breaths against the crook of his neck. He turned towards her jaw, and smiled apologetically, though she could not see his face.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I always get carried away when I play.”

“It’s okay,” she admitted. “You didn’t get carried away. I should have tied my top tighter.”

“Where is your top now?”

Carmen looked around quickly. “Don’t see it but I’m pretty sure it’s making a break for the high seas.”

“Should we go look for it?”

Carmen moved so she could look him in the face. She wiggled her hips. Just a little. Just enough. “Can you?”

Tom didn’t know what to say.

He knew what he should have said was “Of course I can. That’s just a pair of glasses in my pocket. Of course we’ll go look for your top because I am a gentleman and a stranger.”

He knew what he wanted to say was “Of course I can’t. My cock is getting harder and the only remedy, madam, is for you to take me up to your bed where I’ll suck on your deliciously soft tits while I finger you with my freakishly long fingers before I fuck you so hard they’ll hear your screams across the international date line.”

So he kissed her. Lips parted, but his tongue didn’t slip into her mouth until she gasped. So sweetly, so tenderly that his hips pumped and his tongue slid forth so she could suck upon it. His one hand found the ladder up from the dock, while the other cupped her soft ass, and they bobbed along. Sea water sliding from their hair down their cheeks into their hot mouths. Keeping them safe and soft and warm as they floated along in the sea, under a cloudless sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, the real smut deserved it's own chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A steamy morning leads to a stormy afternoon.

Jane was a friend.

Sometimes more than that.

Tom had kept her and her coyness at arms length during the run of the play. Maybe it was a waste of all his training. All the muscle and sinew he had been building to embody Caius Martius. The righteous anger and frustration could have been worked out in regular beddings of the right partner. But their chemistry was off, almost as soon as they met in the first class lounge at Heathrow.

Tom wondered if it was nerves, something that would dissipated as soon as they were boarded, served pre-departure Champagne and changed into matching sets of British Airways pajamas. They were friendly, flirty even, but it should have felt easy and effortless. Tom pleaded fatigue, jet lag, almost as soon as they arrived.

Jane accepted this explanation, and lolled about the resort in a parade of skimpy bikinis, waiting to be ravished. Tom would occasionally take her to bed to cuddle, sometimes even snog.

But eventually he would grow tired, and then annoyed, by her kittenish affectations. By the way she endeavored to be praised and adored for looking so good, for being so perfect for the part of handsome actor’s date on sexy holiday in tropical paradise. But he didn’t want Jane to be perfect. He wanted her to be present. He wanted her to be real. There was no way to express that without sounding like an arsehole. And maybe it was hypocritical for Tom, who could be so guarded about his own private life even with people who knew him.

It’s not that he didn’t trust Jane. But Tom still felt like he was performing, even for her. And it was only when she left, eyes wide from over the top of her comically large sunglasses, trying not to sound disappointed and disbelieving in his excuses about fatigue, that…

“Hey.”

Tom was brought back by one word, whispered gently in his ear by the woman in whose bed he lay. They had remained in the water for as long as they could sort of bob and kiss and hug. The water had been so clear and calm and warm. But the approach of paddle boarders encouraged a move inside, and so they repaired to the privacy of Carmen’s villa.

He followed her lead, removing his trunks when she doffed her bathing suit bottom. Joined her under the rain shower head where they smiled and shampooed each other’s head. They dried off, crawled into Carmen’s bed. They lay watching the far away skies over the mountains grow dark as an early afternoon thunderstorm moved in to settle over the bay. The French doors were open so they could feel the wind moving over the water. Smell the weather.

Tom was beginning to wonder if they were going to sleep through the storm when Carmen, who had been lying at his side, head resting on his chest, turned slowly and crawled up to join him.

She kissed as she crawled, dropping sweet kisses on warm flesh — pectoral, shoulder, the nook in between, the crook of his neck. The hollow of his throat, against which she released a chuckle for a reason known only to herself.

Tom pursed his lips against her forehead. She resumed her course, pressing her pout against his neck again, the underside of his jaw, the tip of his chin, his cheekbone and then, at long last, his mouth.

Carmen was poised above him. Knees bracing his hips, breasts and belly swaying just between them. Tom thought he could feel the heat of her sex mere inches above him and while the thing to do would have been to take her hips and guide her to his cock, instead he cupped her face in his hands. Suddenly aware of how quickly he breathed, and how shallowly, Tom’s fingers began to tremble.

He wanted her.

He wanted her to grab him, take his cock in hand and ease herself onto it.

He wanted her to run her fingers through his hair.

He wanted to flip her over and shove roughly into her. Listen to her grunt, pant, whine, moan for him.

He wanted her to spoon him, feel her soft hands trail up and down the fine line of hair that ran between his navel and his cock. Shiver at the touch of her lips to the top of his spine.

Feel her teeth bite into his bottom lip, his neck, his shoulder.

Feel her tongue flicking out at his earlobe before her lips closed around it to suck gently.

The slash of her freshly painted nails as they scratched into his unmarked back. A blank canvas untouched by the play, just waiting for Carmen to claim it as her own.

The skim of her fingertips on moles and freckles, and the gentle pressure as she probed at childhood wounds with stories to be told.

He wanted to get her beneath him, spread her legs wide, and pump away. Clench and release, the better to fuck her fast and hard. Come fast on her tits, her belly, hips and thighs. Lick her clean then devour her pussy.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her as she sagged on top of him in utter bliss, and total relaxation. He wanted to squirm underneath her, grind his cock against her thigh. Feel her rock against his hip, slowly at first and then faster. Harder. Kiss so hard and so open their jaws ached. Wrestle, just a little. Struggle, just enough. Snuggle until they slept.

Until she begged. Until she screamed for his cock again.

Until she smiled. Until she laughed, and kissed him again.

He wanted her. But he didn’t even know where to begin.

“Do you want to fool around?”

Tom nodded.

Carmen bit her lip.

“Do you want to take a nap.”

Tom sighed, then nodded again.

Carmen dropped her bottom, resting lightly on the tops of his thighs. “You look like a good napping partner.” She blew some hair up and out of her eyes.

“I’m the best,” he admitted with a boyish grin.

She snuggled into him, letting her legs fall apart to enclose his. Let her head and her chest and her belly find their counterparts, their resting places on his own body. He felt her fall asleep, mere moments ahead of him. And for the first time in a number of months, Tom felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to have this be way smuttier but I liked the way this turned out anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, the good stuff comes in the next chapter.


End file.
